


Scars

by sshysmm



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: Book 3: Disorderly Knights, F/M, Joleta being a little creep, Non-Consensual Touching, Scars, the band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2021-01-26 22:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21381268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Scars: Joleta wants to know how you got them.--Written for Whumptober 2019, set in the Band AU I've been writing (see collections).--There's 31 of these ficlets and I apologise profusely for burying other work in the tags. I will *always* tag these as 'the band au' and you can usethis nifty extension (ao3rdr)to block the tag if this isn't your thing and isn't what you want to see in the Lymond tags!
Relationships: Francis Crawford of Lymond and Sevigny/Joleta Reid Malett
Kudos: 3
Collections: Ficlets in the Lymond Band AU for Whumptober 2019





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on tumblr, October 15 2019.](https://notasapleasure.tumblr.com/post/188361965810/whumptober-15)

The encore was finished, the stage had emptied, and the air in the venue was thick with the sound of the crowds cheering. Lymond trotted downstairs from the green room and headed for the tour van, shivering as his sweaty torso met the evening air.

The t-shirt he had worn on stage was lost to his adoring fans: one guitar solo played too close to the barriers and the sea of reaching hands had claimed first blood: an arm of the

Music for Miners shirt had been twisted and ripped, opening up the seam around the back of his shoulder. Then he had stage-dived at the finale and emerged with nothing but black rags on his back and the iron-on slogan hanging over his chest. It seemed only fair to give them what they wanted, so he had removed the ruins of the t-shirt and whipped its flayed remains above his head before launching it into the audience.

It gave them something to fight over as well as the handwritten setlists. With the audience still absorbed in the reverberations of the gig, Lymond had time to slip out to the van in search of a fresh top, while avoiding the signature hunters who would gather later.

He unlocked the side door and crouched as he clambered into the dark interior. The bags were stashed under seats, leaving space behind them for their equipment, so Lymond dropped to his knees to rummage around the fittings until he found the black duffel bag with his clothes inside. Sorting through gaudy patterns, shimmering material and an array of accessories, he did not notice anyone else enter the van.

Sensation sometimes confounds us and turns perspective inside out, and this happened to Lymond as he held a satin blouse in his hands and simultaneously imagined that the material had brushed tantalisingly over his spine. He froze, frowning into the darkness at the back of the van, and saw another silhouette reflected in the rear windows. At the same time he felt the touch on his skin a second time: a set of soft fingertips feeling out the scars that wrapped around his ribcage.

Joleta gasped when he flinched and she straightened as far as she could beneath the low metal roof. Her eyes were large and glittered above cheeks pale as starlight.

"I didn't know you had so many scars," she said quietly.

Cautiously, Lymond turned, remaining on his knees looking up at her before he pulled on the new top. "Clearly you do not follow the correct journalistic sources," he told her. He kept his voice steady and cool, and wondered whether the rear doors of the van could be opened from inside.

The girl flumped her body with childish decisiveness onto one of the seats. Her bare legs stretched into the aisle next to his face and Lymond responded by standing, keeping his head bowed beneath the roof of the van.

"Don't go," Joleta said. It was a plaintive request, light but suffused with disappointment. "Won't you tell me what happened?"

"I require a certain level of preparation from the members of St Mary's, and I had supposed that this had been made plain to you." He spoke authoritatively, as an employer and not a bandmate. "As you appear to be ill-informed on this matter I am content to grant you extra time to look up the commentary on my past. But I don't expect you to ask me about it again."

Joleta stared up at him, limpid eyes and glossy pout now accompanied by a little frown of hurt. She tossed her heavily styled curls and sniffed, her hands fiddling with a scrunchie she wore around her wrist.

Lymond made to step over her legs and leave, only as he moved she caught him unawares. "Oh, but your hand too!"

Her chilly fingers grasped him like tangling river foliage and he stood rooted, his feet planted either side of her legs. She tried to pry the conch of his palm open, insistent and not entirely gentle.

It was only with a little too much force of his own that he managed to free his hand.

"Francis?" With impeccable timing, Jerott stepped up into the van to see the savage expression on Lymond's face, his hand held high above Joleta's supplicant palms and shocked expression.

"Is everything all right?"


End file.
